Seeds of Memory, the Bloodshed Continues, Part 2
by Zandoz
Summary: House of 1000 Corpses Devil's Rejects fan fiction. Some wishful thinking on my part. Baby survives the fatal shootout...or does she? The aftermath of the Devil's Rejects and Angela's continuing adventures. The sequel to Seeds of Memory
1. Chapter 1

WARNING: Adult content ahead. Gratuitous violence, sex, foul language, forced sex, torture, blood, guts and that's just the fun stuff!

* * *

Ok here's the sequel to Seeds of Memory. Word. Y'all better be reviewin the shit and let me know if anyone's reading it. Wheeee!

On last week's episode:

Two months later...

Angela awoke to the alarm clock buzzing, slammed it off and sat up in bed, smacking her lips. She felt fatigued, but not bad. She'd been feeling rather worn-out of late. The young woman limped her way to the kitchen in her and Freddy's simple abode to find her companion already up and sipping coffee. "Legs giving you much pain," he asks her idly, trying not to make an issue of it.

"Sometimes," she says sleepily. He'd been getting her pain pills to help but she didn't like taking them. They'd both settled into a semi-normal life in Mexico, and Angela had surprised the psychiatrist since as Ellen she'd learned Spanish under his nose from the nurse, Maria and fit right in. Well, as good as a white woman could under the circumstances. Angela worked in a deli and Lowell had gotten employment at a pharmacy. He didn't mind that sometimes Baby manifested strongly and at times called him Otis. He was still surprised that her psyche was still holding together, but somehow she was making it all work.

"Here, have some toast," he offers.

"Ugh, I'm not really hungry," she turns up her nose.

"Angela, come here and let me look at you," he says, and brooks no refusal. She shuffles to him.

He looks her over very intently, laying a hand on her stomach, then cupping a breast which was more full and tender. "Hey," she squawks. Aside from being tired she looked radiant and content.

"You're pregnant, doll," he tells her.

"What!"

"How long has it been since you had a period?"

"Uhh..a couple months," she says. She'd written it off as stress and nerves. What the fuck was she gonna do with a baby?

"I know it ain't mine," declares Freddy, who'd begun reflecting Angela's hillbilly accent. "It's that reporter's, isn't it?"

Ellen was very happy at the prospect...another Firefly at last. At least they wouldn't all die out. Baby was fearful of the responsibility and the loss of freedom. Angela would have to mediate the twain...Freddy wondered how this new situation would play out.

* * *

Three years later-- 

"Thought you could fuck us, Ricardo," the hard-eyed woman hissed in Spanish, handgun inches from the portly man's head. Sweat rolled down his face while he begged and gibbered in fear, on his knees before the tall female.

"N-no! Tell Paolo I'll have his money! Just gimme a little time!"

"You were given a shipment of cocaine to transport, to return with the profits. The cocaine disappeared, the money isn't here and here YOU are with a new car. You are fucked."

"Wait, wait! Senora Angela, I'll--" blam

She painted the cheap hotel room's wall and floor with his brains. "That's ok, Ricardo; I know where you have the money hid," she said to no one in particular. He had it in a briefcase in the trunk of that expensive new car. Paolo Chavez would get his money, and Angela Johnson would get her payoff. She wasn't known as the Right Hand of the Cocaine King for nothing.

Angela doffed the red wig and prositute's clothes in favor of her comfortable and serviceable gear: tank top, short button-up shirt, straight-legged jeans, boots, holsters for her many weapons. It wasn't the first time she'd played the part of a _puta_ to accomplish a mission; Ricardo had seen her before and wouldn't let ganglord's Right Hand, his Ángel de Muerte get close to him. With his embezzled funds, however, he wouldn't be averse to being propositioned by a sexy prostitute.

She gathered up the rest of her things and left the double-crosser's body where it had fallen over, the owners wouldn't dare do anything to bring Senor Chavez's ire down on them--he owned pretty much everything in the whole region, including most of the police. She'd filched the keys from Ricardo's pocket and checked the trunk, sure enough the rest of the money was there. Might as well take the nice floatboat car, too--Paolo might even let her keep it. She was sure Kevin or Freddy would enjoy it at least.

Paolo's men conducted her swiftly to their master, she was accorded the same respect as Chavez's other high-ranking members and strongmen. She was one of very few to operate in that manner, most women still were confined to home or brothel. The majority didn't know who she really was, only that she was a powerful force for their side. Paolo did, though. He had eyes and ears all over, including the southwest United States, and netting the infamous, talented, and beautifully deadly Baby Firefly was the best luck he'd had yet. And he wasn't saying a word.

"Angela, m'dear," the middle-aged druglord speaks warmly in English. "Come to the living room." She, and a few picked bodyguards, follow him to his luxurious living room. "I see you have something for me." She hands him the briefcase which he opens, scans the contents, then shuts, smiling. "And that bastard Ricardo?"

"Dead," she says.

"_Idiota_," he shakes his greying head. "A bit too greedy, the toad. My little brother will see to your share of take. Well, sit down, child." She sits beside him on the overstuffed sofa, thinking, I'm no child, mister, but saying nothing. "How's your brother?"

"He's doing fine, his medical supply company is growing."

"If he's interested in my special...laboratories again, you let me know," he says jovially. "And that _niña_, that adorable baby of yours?"

"Roberta's running around like a hellion," Angela says, the love evident in her tone.

"Growing like a weed, eh? Well, Miss Horsey, you're obviously ready to gallop off to that adored family of yours, I can see. Pietro will be calling you tomorrow, ok?"

Jeez, he could be so pompous, Angela thought as she left. In the shiny new car, no less. Paolo could sit and bullshit all damn day, and she was itching to get home to her lover, brother and daughter.

Man, she was tired. Pulling up into her driveway she rubbed her eyes and scratched her head. The bouncy hair had been colored a honey brown and she sometimes straightened the unruly curls to change her appearance. The nice two-storey home Freddy and her had moved into was also home to Kevin McAllister, a devious _gringo_ who'd stolen her heart...among other things when she'd first met him...her daughter Roberta and friend Inez, who acted as den mother.

"Mama! Mama," cried the toddler as soon as she heard her mother enter the house. The child had good hearing and an uncanny sixth sense when it came to the adults she loved. The little girl's hair was a rich brown like her father, Lance, with his dark grey eyes and her mother's bright smile. Her round head was covered in tight ringlets, just like Angela's hair was as a baby.

"There's my Berta," she called back, sweeping the toddler into her stout arms.

"I was getting worried," came Freddy's voice as he entered the room. He was always worried over her it seems. She didn't mind being loved so much, though. Otis always thought she'd get herself into trouble she couldn't get out of again.

"Hi, Freddy," she chirped. "Where's Kevin?"

"The asshole's upstairs in your garden tub. Wasting water, no doubt."

"Freddy, be nice."

"Ain't I always," he sniffed. He'd always felt the drifter Kevin was up to no good. When Angela put Roberta down he moved to her and gave her a squeeze, which she returned. She couldn't resist the former psychiatrist's charm.


	2. Angela's Lovely Home Life

The young man was relaxing in the bubbles with a glass of Angela's champagne when the door opened without warning, causing him to sit up in surprise. It was the mistress of the house, turning to him and smiling lazily. "I see you been into my bar again, you terd," she teases.

"Well, ya know, it was there," the raven-haired male said in his defense.

"You are such a sorryass bum," she tells him, peeling off her tight jeans and shirt.

"Ahh but I'm so pretty...you cannae resist me," he teased back as she slipped bra and panties off, stepping into the spacious tub. He was right about one thing, she did think him pretty...not handsome like you'd describe a man, but pretty. And it wasn't that he was feminine, no he was very much male, but his lean form and underwhelming height, along with catlike hazel eyes and graceful bearing contributed to the assessment. He watched her easing herself into the steamy water and champagne was the furthest thing from his mind. He wondered how she'd come by some of the deep scars on her luscious form, and the problems she had with the joints in her legs, and even the thin scar on her kissable lower lip. She would not elaborate on the subject, and he didn't press the matter. He had quite the shady past, himself. It could've been a terrible accident, maybe the same one that she lost her other family in--it would explain her picking up and moving here and starting all over.

"You think yer all that and a bag of chips, huh," she says, covering his lean torso with her breasts as she leaned in to kiss him. 

A short while later a squeaky clean, robe-clad and contented Angela picked up her daughter and snuggled her, carrying her downstairs to the living room to watch tv. Inez poked her dark head into the room, smiling when she spotted them. "There's that _muchacha disimulada_," she said.

"I'm not sneaky," Roberta declared, nuzzling against her mother's comforting warmth and fuzzy robe. The woman looked down at the toddler in surprise, was she learning Spanish already?

The household den mother shook her shiny raven head. "She's hard to keep up with, just like her _madre_." Sounds of rummaging in the kitchen had her attention focused on that. "Hey! Freddy and Kevin, you two get out of my kitchen if you're trying to wreck it," she said, voice raising and letting loose scolds as only a Mexian woman can.

The little girl giggled, turning back to the cartoons. Angela hoped her offspring was happy, and considered. True, she didn't know her real father, but she had good male role models...well, Kevin was semi-good, anyways. And she had much more comforts and playmates than she'd had as a little girl, even though she'd been spoiled and well-loved by all her family. Absently she played with a strand of the brunette locks, smiling. She was the best thing she'd ever done, Angela thought to herself. It's too bad Mama or RJ or Otis won't ever see her, she thought with a touch of sadness.

Soon the girl fell asleep against her adored mama, thumb firmly in mouth. Carefully she cradled her in her arms and made her way upstairs. Kevin followed, opening the door to Roberta's room quietly and helping tuck her into her little bed. He cared for the rambunctious, irresistible three year old nearly as much as Freddy did. Which was a lot, and that surprised him. He normally hated kids. 

The next day Angela intended to spend the whole day with Roberta and sent Pretty Boy Kevin out to run errands and hopefully get a job. The phone rang but she ignored it; she was showing Roberta how to make baskets. A few moments later Inez appeared in the sunny art room and it looked serious from the expression on the attractive, middle-aged woman's face. "All right, I'll get it," she said, setting the project down. Reaching the hall phone she picked the reciever off the cradle on the wall and said, "Hola? Yes, this is her." A pause, then she blanches. Mumbling her understanding she fumbles the phone back on its wall cradle, her eyes wide and round.

"What is it, Angelita," Inez queries.

"Paolo...Paolo's dead," she stammers, the realization hitting her like a ton of bricks. Just like that, her livelihood was threatened again, after all the work she'd put into it. Not only that, but a mentor and fatherly figure struck down...

Ellen sobbed, gasping for air but the Baby part pushed it down, causing a procession of varying expressions to parade across her still-youthful face. Angela, to keep her tenuous hold on sanity, took hold of them and used them both, as she used either personality's attributes to her benefit. _Quiet, you two!_ All right, first thing's first, go to the druglord's house and gather what information she could. Then, find who shot Paolo and why, and make them suffer. Inside her fractured psyche Baby Firefly smiled, and outwardly Angela did, as well. 

Total chaos could be the only way to describe the meeting at the slain crime boss' home, with several differing factions already evident. Pietro was the most powerful of these, being Paolo's brother and familiar with the strong arms of the organization and how to run such an empire. Angela was surprised though when several of the more powerful members backed _her_ in a bid for top dog. Everyone was a suspect in Mr. Chavez's murder, and she looked around at all the possibilities, including Pietro. He made it clear what he thought her place should be--servicing his sexual and/or domestic needs.

She decided she didn't like him too much. Paolo had always treated her with respect and even a bit of reverence coupled with the affection a father has for a daughter. She really had no interest in attempting to take over such a large criminal syndicate; she wanted to find out who aced Paolo and take them out.

What could be pieced together was that the crime boss went out to the backyard to enjoy the sun, without his bodyguards for perhaps a minute, and that's how long it took to kill him with a silenced gun. Pietro spontaneously had the slack guards executed for their failure. Heh, convenient.

Was it a rival gang? Maybe so, maybe even someone like Pablo Escobar coming this far north? Or, as Angela had a sneaking suspicion of, his own brother taking him out. 

"Freddy, I don't think we're safe here," Angela told him while eating her pork chop soup. "Vincent is fancying himself a bigshot now, and I don't trust Pietro farther than I can throw 'im. We should move, all of us."

Her adopted brother paused thoughtfully, saying, "Seems like everywhere we go trouble follows. That's what I get for taking up with a Firefly, I guess."

"Shhh," she scolds. "Nobody but you and Paolo knew that, and now he's dead."

"Are you gonna tell Kevin? Tell him...the truth?"

She didn't answer.

Love was sweet that night, and the woman tried to think of a way to talk about her past to her boyfriend. He'd already dozed off with his head cradled on her bosom and she felt like a bath. She needed a good, long bath. She gently extricated herself from the young man and padded to the bathroom. Ahhh, that's the ticket. 


	3. The Past Comes up and Bites Her Ass

She was thoroughly enjoying her soak in the garden tub when she thought she detected a dull thump, sending her to her feet in a split second. "Kevin," she called softly, wrapping a bath towel around herself. No answer. She reached for the discarded champagne bottle and grasped it, easing to the bathroom door and straining her ears. She might've heard a strangled gasp, but she was too well-trained and cautious to rush in there. She braced herself and flung the door open, eyes quickly scanning the room; no intruders, but the night table fallen over and some items scattered about the floor. And in the bed, the love of her life lying motionless, his hazel eyes staring up at the ceiling.

"Oh..no...," she gasped, stepping slowly toward him, still searching for whoever broke in. Other than the disarray in the room, no sign of how or where they'd entered. Bruised and bloody knuckles proved that he'd struck out at his attackers, plus there were darkening contusions around his neck. She made a circuit of the windows and doors, but found no other clues. Then, for once in her life, she did something a typical woman might do in such a situation: she screamed bloody murder.

* * *

That night another woman found it hard to sleep. She was just a couple dozen miles north from Angela and her plight, in a cheap hotel room with her green eyes frustratingly open. She couldn't lose her nerve, not now, she thought. Not after all this time. She'd been working towards this inevitable confrontation, subconsciously or not, for several years. Ever since she was pulled out of the House of 1000 Corpses, as it had been dubbed, barely alive or sane. 

A half dozen plastic surgeries had almost given her original face back, her leg bone had to be rebroken and set to allow her to walk, and the young woman wore partial dentures since she'd lost a few due to malnutrition and a couple more had been hit and kicked out. Her body had been put back together as well as medically possible at that time, but the same couldn't be said for her mind. She reached over to clutch the handgun laying beside her in the bed, savoring its cold lethality. She'd taken self-defense courses, martial arts, and training in all sorts of firearms. Not to mention wilderness survival, hunting and tracking. When she had at last found what became of the last hated Firefly, she knew what she must do.

She was barely twenty years old.

Pietro Chavez pondered on recent developments, searching for a solution. His older brother's untimely demise should've assured his own ascension to leader of the organization, but instead this outsider was being pushed into that position. Not only that, but a _woman_ as well. He'd never understood Paolo's affection for Angela or agreed with her high position as his Right Hand.

Angela in the meantime had removed herself and the household to a more secure location and appointed bodyguards loyal to her around the premesis. It was more rural and the house smaller but still comfortable. She'd been swinging between calm acceptance and screaming hysteria--Freddy had his hands full trying to console Roberta and deal with Angela.

He decided they should take a walk, perhaps some fresh air would improve her temper. Hand-in-hand they strolled, and the tension in the multi-talented woman's shoulders did seem to drain away.

"Talk to me, Ellen."

"Don't call me that," she snapped.

"I know that's who's here right now so you can cut the shit," he snaps back. "I can tell which one is present, and it's Ellen. So talk to me."

"I don't have much to say," she looks away from him.

Sighing, the former psychiatrist is silent for a few moments. "You blame yourself," he states.

"Kevin's dead because of me," she answers, voice beginning to tremble. "I couldn't protect him."

"You're only one person, Angela, and you can't be everywhere at once," the black-haired man says softly.

Suddenly the woman's head snaps around as if she heard something. Freddy hadn't detected anything, but then again he didn't have her killer's awareness. A woman stepped into view, an automatic rifle aimed at them. Freddy went for his sidearm but the stranger's eyes were keen. She swung her weapon towards him.

That's when the two guards protecting Angela broke cover and opened fire, distracting the stranger. Angela and Freddy both hit the dirt pulling their own weapons. When the smoke cleared the intruder was standing over the lifeless bodies of the hired men, a look of sadness and regret on her features, almost as if she didn't realize that's what happens when you shoot a firearm at someone. She whirled though before the Angel de Muerte could squeeze a round off at her, freezing them both in place at their predicament. Her green eyes glittered in her youthful yet scarred face, and her hair was long, straight and blonde--in fact, she could've passed as Baby Firefly's little sister. "Don't ya remember me, Baby," she spoke at last. "Don't recognize your brother's handiwork?"

Angela gazed at the newcomer for a few moments, then made a connection. "Jessica, the Homecoming Queen," replies Angela. She'd never thougth one of their surviving victims would be persistant and resourceful enough to find her, here of all places. Or that she'd remember their name.

"Yes," she spat. "Jessica King, macabre play-toy to you and your twisted family. I was fifteen when RJ picked me up that day." She approached slowly, rifle still on them. "Drop the weapon," she tells the older woman.

"Not a chance."

"You deserve to die, but I would really much rather make you suffer like I suffered for a good, long while. This would be much to abrupt."

With a swing of her long leg Angela sent the firearm flying into the bushes, but the younger woman took hold of Angela's gun hand, slamming the forearm on her knee and causing her to let go of the handgun.

"Hold it," came Freddy's voice. He was currently trying to get a clear shot as the two females struggled.

"Freddy, don't! Go get help," Angela called back to him.

"I may not be Otis, but I'm not completely useless," he asserts.

She didn't feel like arguing, but before she could do anything else Jessica pulled a funny-looking gun out of a pouch and shot Freddy with it. Immediately his right arm felt dead and he couldn't move it. A few seconds later he fell forward unconscious. Jessica had tagged him with a whopping dose of horse tranquilizers.

Angela continued grappling with the former victim, surprised at the woman's skill, until she felt a sting in her neck. Reaching up she found a dart sticking out of it, then everything went black.

Opening crusty blue-green eyes the woman tried moving and found she was restrained to a wooden chair, arms behind her and writs tied excruciatingly tight together. Casting her gaze about the room it appeared to be part of an abandoned rural storehouse of some sort, filled with rot and mold and dust. The musty smell didn't bother her, though. Her old life as Baby was spent in the moldy basement or the storehouse where humans were gutted like cattle. She worried about her adopted brother Freddy and if he was all right. Footsteps sounded from the left and after a couple moments a tall, lean man with dark hair entered wearing slacks and a Hawaiian print short-sleeved shirt and sunglasses. "_Está tan usted con el policia?_," she asked him.

"Haha, nope," he replied, removing his shades to reveal pale blue eyes. Another American, like her and Jessica. "I'm with the FBI, ma'am. Not sure what you're going by now."

"You can call me Angela," she says icily. "Or Big Fucking Trouble, if ya like, for messing with Paolo's Right Hand."

"I think you're IN big fucking trouble, sweetcheeks," he says, circling her lazily.

"So did the Homecoming Queen join the Federal Bureau of Ignorance? What's the story, _amigo_?"

"He's not in the FBI any more," comes Jessica's voice as she enters the room. She was wearing dark blue boot-cut jeans with a pink button-up shirt, her yellow hair pushed back with a headband. "But nobody else knows that, do they, bounty hunter?"

The man shot her an angry glare. "Can't keep your big mouth shut," he grumbles. "Do what you wanted to do to her, little girl, but leave some of the carcass for me to collect on. All right?"

"That's part of the deal, Dave. Sure you don't wanna...you know...have a little fun with her first? I don't think she'll be too attractive once I'm finished with her."

He wrinkled his nose. "I don't think so--it's hard to say what kinda diseases she's got. And besides, this is purely business. Speakin' of which, I need to make a trip into town. Don't bring any local attention to yourself, mmkay?" The man exits, shutting the metal door behind him.


	4. Pain, Past and Present

"Well, the tables are turned now," states Angela. "Does that make it all better? Will this take those scars away?"

"Quiet," hisses the younger lady, curling her fingers in the prisoner's honey-brown-dyed hair and yanking her head back. "I call it justice. For all those whose lives you destroyed. For all the torments I endured in that house of horrors. Do you remember?"

"Yes, I do. But the person who did that can't hurt you any longer," Angel responds calmly.

"That's right, because now I'm in control."

"No," Angel interrupts. "Because I'm not Baby."

"The hell you ain't! I don't believe that amnesia split-personality bullshit, bitch."

Angela merely shrugged.

"What you did to me was bad enough, but do you know the whole of what your brothers did? Do you," her lips trembled at the memory. "Beaten, starved, cut up and chained like a dog. But that wasn't the worst of it..."

"Jessica--," Angela began.

"Otis raped me first," she continued, tears welling and falling down her face, which she wiped furiously. She promised herself she wouldn't break down in front of her surviving tormentor. "The second time he forced me, Rufus watched then had his turn. There for weeks afterwards I thought they'd ruptured something inside me, I could barely walk straight. They'd drag me upstairs, where you'd play with me like a human Barbie doll or smack me around if I didn't answer you quick enough. They'd drag me downstairs to rape me or put objects up in me. Sometimes I'd get a cupful of water or some bread or rancid meat to eat." She was sobbing by now, pulling the older woman's hair with every other syllable but she didn't cry out. Just listened to the horror-riven tirade as it grew worse.

"You...fucking...bitch...," she wept. Wiping her eyes again she began backhanding Angela to illustrate her points. "I misscarried a baby down in one of the cages I'd been stuffed in. The other inhabitant was barely aware of anything but shrank back from the shrivelled little thing that my body expelled. Probably because of the abuse I'd gone through. Maybe partly because of how young I was." Angel felt her nose break with an explosion of hot pain through her face, her eyes seeing nothing for several moments.

"I can't have children because of you and your kin! You robbed me off my childhood, and robbed me of my future," she screamed. "I lost three other children! I was one of the few Otis fucked on a regular basis and kept alive. I think he was curious, too. I carried one almost full-term, but you had moved on to other victims by that point and paid me no more mind. That baby was Otis's because even though it was a shrunken, malformed little thing it looked like that bleached-out snake. Still I would've loved it. I hoped that maybe his morbid curiosity would allow me to live, and keep it, but his temper prevented that when I displeased him yet again. I'd never been beaten so hard in my life."

Angela's face was throbbing with pain and bleeding, but she looked up at her captor with something that Baby had never displayed in Jessica's long, horrible stay at the Firefly homestead: pity. Pity and sorrow. Slowly the traumatized girl lowered her fist, mouth open in shock. A weight had lifted off her somewhat, having gotten to spew what she felt at the object of her hatred, but her need for revenge was still there, along with self-consciousness. She quickly left to compose herself and to leave Angel to ponder her fate. 

"Fuck," cursed Angela as she tried working her wrists free of her bonds and only succeeded in rubbing them raw. What a way to go, she thought ironically. Totally taken by surprise by one of Baby's victims just like she used to ambush unsuspecting innocents. She fervently hoped Freddy was unharmed, and then began worrying about her daughter. There would be only kindly Inez to protect her if something had happened to Freddy. ..And there was still the matter of her employer's sudden death and contending with her new rival, his brother Pietro. Baby swelled inside, fighting to break free and wreak havoc and strike out blindly--but Angela pushed her back down. Not yet, she thought. Not yet.

God, her face ached, but she didn't let on. She'd learned to deal with pain long ago, otherwise she would've just given up many times. She had Otis to thank for that. Presently a fly tried to land on her battered face, drawn by the enticing smell of blood and torn flesh. Angela shook her head to rid herself of the pest, but after a minute or so it was back.

This was really starting to get on her nerves. _My kingdom for a fly swatter._

Jessica couldn't keep the memories from bubbling up and overflowing, like a dam bursting after a heavy rain. They washed over her and left her wrung-out, re-living the horrific moments. Baby filmed her while Otis stripped her of her tattered clothes, and she went over the poor girl's good and bad points like she was a prime racehorse. The young woman couldn't make the images cease, she'd opened up her ravaged psyche. Collapsing on the floor of the old storehouse's office she curled up into a little ball.

"All right, hoochie-koo," the awful psychotic 'artist' was telling her. "You know the routine. Get your shit on the bed, or I'll make you and you won't like it."

Shaking all over, sick and sore from the mistreatment and her first miscarriage she crawls on the filthy bed with the bloodstained sheets. "Whatcha gonna do, Otis? I wanna hear her scream," and Baby giggled her childish laugh.

"Shut up Baby, I'm workin," he replies, nevertheless grinning for the camera. He shucks off his flannel shirt and t-shirt and joins the teenaged girl on the bed. She was so weak and beaten down by now that he doesn't bother to restrain her, simply unzipping his pants so he can get down to business. Dutifully she spreads her legs, not wishing to hear his yelling or feel his fists. "Well, this one's a quick learner," he chuckles, slapping her face almost gently. "But that's not what I want this time, bitch. I want you to suck it. Go on." At her confused and disgusted look he growls, "Dammit don't make me tell you again, Homecoming Queen! You can't be all that innocent, ya slut. Pretend it's a nice ice cream cone yer daddy bought ya on a hot summer's day, and SUCK ME OFF!"

"No," she whimpers on the floor, arms wrapped around herself. Retching she empties her stomach on the tiles, glad that Baby wasn't here to witness it. She was beginning to think only death would finally bring her peace, but before she went she wanted the satisfaction of returning the favor to the last Firefly. 

Angela dozed, having tired herself out trying to wriggle free of her bonds or think of something brilliant to get herself out of this situation. She dreamt of her brothers, of her mother and father and of happier times. Well, happier for her if not for her victims.

Listening to 'More than a Feeling' by Boston. Eating homemade apple pie and laughing at Tiny getting ice cream all over his horribly scarred face. Of RJ and her butchering prime beef for the table and for sale and comparing the cattle to human beings and their differences. Falling asleep with her head in Mother's lap as she crooned with her sweet, matronly voice and tender hands. Of the despair she felt when as Baby she realized she was all alone and friendless in the cruel world, a world actually crueller than any of the Fireflys ever thought about being.

Ellen was what kept it together, in spite of Baby's contempt she had a strength of her own. Her big pretty eyes flew open as someone entered the room.

"Nice face," quipped Dave. 

Jessica entered right after that, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. "I got the stuff," he tells her, holding out a package. Green eyes lit up at that, grabbing it and tearing open the paper.

"Good. So me doing the dirty work was worth it, just to see the look on her ugly face," she gloats, looking through the contents of the box. "You being in the FBI was worthwile, indeedy-do. Ok, cunt," she directed at Angela. "Got some things for ya to look at."

"Bite me," Angela snarls.

"Your dearly departed ma, for instance," Jessica goes on, putting the photos in her face. "Oh, and that big lug Rufus Jr, too. Aw, is that is chest that looks like hamburger meat?"

"You bitch. You're not better than Baby was," spat Angela. 


	5. The Plot Thickens, Bends and Twists

"Fuck you I ain't watchin shit," stated Angela. They were alone again, Dave having grown bored and went in search for something else to do.

"I'll blow you're worthless brains out, you murderin' whore," responds Jessica.

"Dobson's did this already, dearie."

Jessica struck her in the head with the butt of the gun. "You'll watch and you'll see! Feel what I felt the whole time I spent in Hell with you," she struck the back of the woman's head repeatedly with the pistol, causing her to see stars as aching pain spread across her cranium. Stepping around the chair she faced her former tormentor, expecting to see murderous hatred and defiance, and found determination but...a thirtysomething mother simply showing regret and concern for another human being. She began weeping again, her tears falling on Angela's battered face and making it sting. "Oh God," she cried.

"Let it out, girl. Forgive."

"Why should I forgive you, bitch," she demanded.

"Not me, dumbass. Forgive yourself. For what you've done and what you're doing. For being taken into that awful house. Let it go."

"Shut up," she yelled, but fell to her knees coughing and sobbing. The worst thing of all was that the lady was right, and was nothing like the Baby she remembered. "You're trying to trick me."

"Am I? Look at me. I have a little girl of my own who I'm worried sick about. I'd take you home with me and try to help you, if you'd let me. Look at me!"

Trembling, Jessica obeyed, studying Angela's face and not seeing any of the sharklike coldness and devilish cuteness. "You..you're not Baby," she said as if it were a revelation.

"You finally figured it out," Angela said not ungently. Leaning forward, her head against Angela's breast she undid the ropes binding her hands. Surprisingly the first thing she did was put her arms around the young woman, holding her like a mother. Like her mother used to hold her when she was upset, crooning under her breath. Jessica cried and cried, spending herself out against the hitwoman's shirt. And...she actually felt better. Not good, but better.

"God help me, but I can't...I can't..."

"I know, child. I'm sorry, too." Angela stroked her long blonde hair. "Maybe someday you can forgive me. You don't realize I live with everything Baby has done every day of my life. I'm ok with that, it's my purgatory, if you will."

Jessica wiped her eyes and stood. "I wouldn't deprive an innocent little girl of her mother. But, there's one little thing."

"What's that?"

"Your hide has been promised to Dave Parks, ex-FBI agent, to collect his bounty."

Undoing her foot restraints she shrugged. "I can take care of him."

..."Plus who says your going anywhere? I still plan on having my revenge."

"How much revenge have you taken already," Angela asked in earnest, voice going frigid. It chilled the other woman's spine. "Did you kill my Kevin," she advanced toward Jessica who gazed back at her wide-eyed. "Did you?"

"No," she replied. "I wanted you, not him. That--that was your boyfriend, right?"

Angela, her eyes like two carved sapphires in her head, nodded. "What about your dickless friend, Dave?"

"I don't...I really don't know," the girl breathed.

"I'm gonna fuck him up royally," Angela declared, heading for the door. It flew open almost in her face and a bunch of people entered, pushing her back. A bunch of Pietro's men, a protesting Mr. Parks in tow.

"Fuck me sideways with a pipewrench," exclaims the Angel de la Muerte. "I'm getting such a fuckin' headache."

"Well, if it isn't my brother's pet," sneers Pietro, following after his men. Both women had their hands up.

"What are you doing here," Jessica demanded, trying hard to think of something clever to extricate herself from this situation.

"We followed this weasel to his little hole," answers Pietro, casting Dave a hate-filled glance. The man lowered his pale blue eyes. "A professional assassin he is not. He'd bribed the two 'inept' guards, we found the money. So now I have him and his two little bitch friends. What am I to do with you," he asks rhetorically, looking round at each of them.

"My business was not with your brother or his empire. I came for _her_," declared Jessica, meaning Angela.

"Ah, you came to kill the big bad Baby Firefly," the pudgy man taunts. The three captives all gasp with shock. At Angela's expression he said, "No, Paolo never told me your true identity, _pequeña muchacha_, but he had hidden papers on all his lieutenants and assassins. My brother turns up dead and I find you holed up with him and his little gopher-girl."

"Shitstain there had dibs on my carcass," snaps Angela. She remembered all too well her experience with the Unholy Two. Dave shrugged and acknowledged his assent to what she said. Glaring daggers she barks, "Did you kill Kevin, too?"

"Yes I did," he surprisingly responds. "I'd hoped to spark an internal struggle within the gang."

"Why?"

"To cause trouble," Jessica answers for him. "The US government allows him to do it to keep you all busy, outlaw and officer alick, so you won't notice the bounties transported illegally across the borders."

"You sorry son of a bitch," began Angela, going for Dave.

"Uh-uh," goes Pietro, his men moving in on them. "I have him and I'll have his hide for killing my brother."

Jessica made her move, using her dart gun she had hidden to tranquilize a few of the gang members. Dave took one of his guards' guns and dove for the floor while squeezing the trigger.

Angela began working her way to the door amid the hail of bullets, collecting ammo and weapons off fallen bodies. 

Soon the space was peppered with myriad bulletholes and crammed with a dwindling number of jostling bodies. "Come on," urged Dave, grabbing Jessica by the wrist, close on Angela's heels. They slipped past Pietro and the few Mexicans remaining, Angela hesitating because she didn't know the way around. "This way," Jessica tells them, leading the party to another room, being covered by Dave oddly enough. It was where the bounty hunter had been cleaning his equipment, and they armed themselves well.

Paolo's enraged brother soon found them, the men in front going down in a burst of lead and crimson. "_Perra!_," he roared at Angela, his gun aimed at her heart. Then he somehow sprouted a bolt from his forehead, blood pouring down his face. He unceremoniously slumped forward, dead.

Surprised, Angela looked to the other female to find her still holding up the mini pistol crossbow, eyes big as saucers. "Asshole," she muttered, letting it drop to the floor with a clank. Then they both looked at Dave, who was, as they were, fingering their pieces.

A Mexican standoff?

"Shit," they all three swore, drawing on the person next to them.

"Drop it," demanded Angela, feeling that being the eldest and a mother that the others would obey.

"Noooo way, _Jose_," intoned the ex-FBI agent, icy eyes determined and even a bit scared. "I didn't come all this way to have my meal ticket slip out of my hands."

"Fuck it all, don't do this," pleaded Jessica, unsure of why she had her gun pointed at Dave, or why Angela had hers pointed at her.

"All right, think...think..," said Angela, looking around the room. "Ok. Let's all lower our weapons at the same time, an act of trust, y'know?"

"How we gonna lower them all at once," asks Dave.

"On the count of three," answers Angela. Dave then wanted to know who was gonna count.

"Goddammit, I will," spits Jessica, arms growing tired. "All right? One...two...three.." 

Before the former Firefly victim could flinch she saw Dave going to his knees, dropping his gun and clutching his shoulder. Angela's hand was still extended in the act of throwing the small knife, a bit surprised herself at what she'd accomplished. Good, she hadn't wanted to kill him. Not yet, anyway--Baby was clamoring to be let out, and Angela intended to let her have her way for a little while. "What're you gonna do," Jessica asked her.

"Oh, we're gonna play," she replied, and the other woman knew she meant her other personas.

"Then what? You think I'm gonna let you go home, just like that," Jessica hovered around her anxiously. "You have a daughter and a comfortable life, something which you and your ilk took away from me! Listen to me!"

"I'm listening," Angela tells her calmly. "I just don't have time." At the young woman's shocked pause her bony fist swings out, catching the blonde in the temple with brutal force. White light dazzled her eyes and she dropped like a sack of potatoes. "Sorry kid," breathes the hitwoman. Turning to the gabbling, bleeding, drooling bounty hunter she smiles wickedly. A change came over her face that should be impossible, but flitted over her features, like something underneath the skin that just settled in. A hearty giggle filled her throat, ending in maniacal full-bodied laughter.

Dave gibbered in fear. "Well hello there, poopypants. Looks like ya got something stickin' out of you," she bends and yanks the short-bladed knife from his shoulder, eliciting a yowl from him. "Now me an' you is gonna play!"

Dave screams. 

Something horrendous jarred the bounty hunter awake. Sitting up he found his arms shackled and chained to the wall with his legs free. Looking down he percieves what brought him consciousness; his left kneecap was completely busted. Bone fragments, cartilage and blood had exploded outwards, decorating the floor around his leg. Wheezing and gasping in growing agony and fear he brings his gaze upwards to see who's standing over him. It was the woman he'd been contracted to capture, dead or alive, the female who the determined, unbalanced girl Jessica had joined forces with to get revenge on. Well, the same body, anyway. What looked out at him with reptilian eyes wasn't the strongwoman assassin of the Cocaine King of northen Mexico.

No, what was gazing at him was much, much worse. He let loose a bloodcurdling scream of terror when he espied the sledgehammer with his own tissue hanging off the head, her deft killer's hands clutching it masterfully. She giggled. After he ceased his wail Dave waited for her to strike him again, which for her own reasons she didn't. "Baby?..," he ventured after regaining his voice.

Twirling like a ballerina she answers yes. "Ol' stick-in-the-mud don't let me out very often. Such a shame, we can have ever so much fun. What pretty blue eyes you have. Pretty, pretty," she places the sledgehammer on the lone table in the room and walks over to him. She even moved differently, just as formidable and confident but more carefree, an exaggerated female swagger even. She swings a long, well-toned leg over him and sinks down, straddling him. He tried flinching away but his restraints and mangled knee didn't allow it. She scooted right up against his body, her thighs cradling his hips. In better circumstances he would've been mightily turned on but right now he was filled with pain and dread.

"Please," he moaned. "Please, don't kill me. Don't hurt me. I can get you anything you want. You want money? Or I could make sure your organization is untouchable. Hear that? You could be the head. Please--"

"Shhh," she interrupts, producing a large knife from her back pocket. "I don't care about any o' that shit," she smiles, licking his cheek. "Right now," she breathes, "the only thing I care about...," she presses her breasts against him, against all odds eliciting a spark of desire in him. "..Is hearing you scream." She brings the blade to his left eye. "Scream for me, darlin. Scream."


	6. A Bit of the ol' Ultra Violence

Note: Some of my most violent shit yet!

* * *

"No! Nooooo," he squealed as the thin metal blade slid past his lower eyelid and under his eyeball, cradling it. "Help me! Jessica! SOMEBODY!" He felt the pressure from the alien object that had been inserted into his eye socket but she merely held the knife there, smirking at his pain.

"She's having nap time," she told him. "Now, tell me," she goes on. "Where is my daughter? Is she safe?"

"Yes! Yes," he answered. Blood trickled down his pale face, but she hadn't done that much damage...not yet. "She's with your so-called brother, they're both in hiding last I knew."

"You telling the truth," she asks him, moving the blade just a hair's breadth, but he felt it. Oh, he felt it, all right.

"Aaaaghh! Yes! Dammit, yes! Please stop!"

She removed the rumpled cotton button-up shirt she'd been wearing, a tiny t-shirt which read "Anything boys can do girls can do better." "Is it gettin hot in here or is it just me? Oh, pardon me, did I hurt your eye? Maybe I should get rid of it for you," and with a smooth flick she popped his eye from it's long-term snug domicile. The round orb fell into her palm, resting iris up.

"AAAAAAGH GOD OH GOD YOU BITCH! OH FUCK," he wailed, blood glopping down from his eyesocket's now-empty hole.

"I'll keep this as a souvenir," she declares nonchalantly. "Wish I could remember that formaldahyde solution Otis always used. Freddy'll probably know a good way to preserve it."

Dave struggled lamely against his tormenter and bonds, sobbing. Some time later he passed out from the shock and trauma, unaware of Baby's doings for the time being. She went to make sure Jessica was securely restrained, albeit a bit more humanely. Even Baby didn't wish the girl any further harm; in fact she respected her more than when she'd been a 'guest' at the Firefly farm. It was Darwinism at it's most extreme; Jessica had survived what Otis and Baby had dished out and came back to collect payback on her ass, and instead of being pissed off or scared Baby found it refreshing. The girl had gumption, and skills--nothing like the shallow homecoming queen RJ had picked up. She was someone Baby could actually relate to now, and she found the girl was still unconscious. Maybe she hit her a bit hard...oh well. 

Jessica knew exactly what entity was gazing out at her when she opened her green eyes--it was Baby. Terrified, she shrank away as if five years had never elapsed and she was a tormented, ravaged teenager. "B-Baby," she spoke, puling at her bonds. She'd been strapped to a chair, but not too tightly..had some _consideration_ went into it?

"You just sit tight, sugar," Baby assures her, hefting her knives and different implements like she was trying to decide which one to use. She'd taken the time to clean her face up, which was starting to swell but appeared better than it had for a while.

"Did you kill Dave already?"

"No, not yet," she giggles, an incongruous sound coming from a 34 year old mother of a toddler. "Why, are you two fuckin?"

"Hell no," blurted Jessica with more vehemence than she'd intended.

"I'm glad you developed some taste," Bably declares, stuffing things in a satchel.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Huh, I still remember that picture of that big dope you were carryin around that designer purse," the older lady goads, pleased with herself.

"Bah, kiss my ass," grumbles the blonde.

"You can bend over for me later, got some shit to do. Then you can go," Baby flounces away.

Stunned, Jessica was unable to speak. Was she gonna let her go? Just like that? Then she noticed something about the whole exchange...Bably talked to her like she was an EQUAL, not as prey.

"Wake up, Poopypants," says Baby, splashing some creekwater in her captive's face. That caused him to stir at last, coughing and sputtering. He was still sprawled in the floor where she'd left him hours before. With consciousness came the pain of his shattered kneecap and empty eye socket. "Jessica! Help! Help me," he yells desperately.

"She can't help you, she's indisposed for the moment," she says mock-primly. "There's some more things I wanna know," she intones, walking to him.

"What? What else d'you wanna know," he says between teeth clenched with pain.

"Wellll," she begins. "I'd like to know what all this lovely stuff of yours I found is. Like this, for instance. She pulls out of a satchel a modified catlle prod. It had been modified to use on human targets. Dave's blue eyes widened as he watched her bring it toward him. He let out weakening yeps as she used it on him, causing his body to stiffen and jerk. 

She put the implement down after a while and returned to the table where she had other toys laid out for her enjoyment. Dave observed her carefully, stretching painfully to pass something from his mouth to his hand, sweat pouring down his forehead and wincing from his pain-wracked body. "Doop de-doo, hmm hmm hmmm," went Baby, selecting a pair of wicked-looking pincers and flouncing toward him. When she knelt down beside him she was greeted with a fist to the face, fracturing her already-cracked nose and sending her thump to her bottom.

"Bitch," he roared, fumbling with the latch to his other wrist with the sliver of metal he'd confiscated. Meanwhile Baby was holding her throbbing nose, now horribly broken, and yowling like a wounded animal. Just as he was unlocking the clasp she was on him with the pincers, bumping his face with the grabbers and finally siezing his nose with it. He felt that organ implode with a fresh burst of heat and screaming nerve endings and kicked out with his good leg, miraculously catching her in the crotch. That bought him a few more seconds as she staggered back. Freed from the wall he half-slid, half-bounced himself out of the way of another attack, then threw his uninjured leg in Baby's path, tripping her.

Both of their faces were spurting blood and lymph at this point, obstructing vision and maddening them with the raw pain. Still the ex-FBI agent was at a distinct disadvantage being lamed and on the floor, so he attempted to rectify that by pulling himself by his lean arms to the table and trying to get a grip on its flat top. "Ohh you're gonna be sorry for that," vowed the woman, no trace of playfulness left in the frighteningly funereal announcement. She swung the pincers full on the back of his head as he brought the cattle prod to her hip and zapped her with maximum voltage. He fell facedown across the table as she was thrown back several feet, twitching and drooling. 

It was several long addled moments before Dave's vision cleared, and he propped himself up to scan the room for his enemy. He spotted her slumped against the wall, fingers still wiggling, saliva clearing a path down her chin and jaw through the crimson fluid already decorating it. "Oh, thank God," he said out loud. "Thank you, Jesus." He found his outer shirt draped across the lone chair beside the table and ripped it into strips which he bound his blown-out kneecap with. He scrabbled till he grasped the imported kukri blade he was so proud of. It was mostly for show; in actuality he had no idea how to properly use such an oddly-shaped dagger, if that was what you called it. Just the sight of the thick, finely honed forward-bent blade was enough to intimidate most anyone.

"You inbred murderin' whore," he grinned in spite of himself. Hobbling to the wall the woman was lean precariously against he raised the lethal weapon bent on cleaving her evil skull in twain, when her long well-muscled leg shout out with a dry crack. Looking down in shock he saw his mangled leg now bent _backwards_. The bones just below his broken knee were splintered like so much kindling wood, and almost in slow motion he fell backwards. Deftly Baby took the kukri from him and stood over him laid out on the floor as he gazed up at her, unbelieving.

"You should know better 'n to fuck with a Firefly," she declared. "An' the women are worse than th' men, sugar," she brought the blade down with devastating force, severing the horribly damaged leg.

"GAAAAHHHHH NOOOOO! FUUUUUUCK M---," soon his head followed, the single eye still continued to see for several seconds, staring at its ravaged body in numb shock. 


	7. The End Maybe

The next few minutes was spent with Baby kicking around the bloody head with glee before she was reigned in by Angela, redirecting her energy into something more constructive, like cleaning up her swollen, throbbing face. Perhaps a visit to a plastic surgeon would be a good idea, shit she had the money for it. After that, she found Jessica still bound to her chair, and the younger female gasped when she saw Angela's beaten, crooked-nosed appearance. With one smooth motion she cut her free, stepping aside to allow her to stand. That Jessica did, eyeballing Angela for any sudden moves. She knew it was the hybrid entity from the motherly way she was gazing at her, and that was just as bad as having Baby staring at her she found.

"My offer still stands," Angela speaks at last.

"Huh?"

"You can come home with me. Let me take care of you."

The blonde considered this for a few moments, then turned sad emerald eyes to the hitwoman. "I'm sorry, Angela. I've thought of a way of making things even between us. You can't stop me." In less than a second the hypodermic was in Angela's arm, and she only had time to look down in amazement before her legs buckled and she met the cold, damp floor. Darkness crept in on her field of vision but she heard as if through a tunnel Jessica whispering to her, "Don't worry, she's young yet and won't remember much. I'll love her as my own. You owe me! YOU OWE ME!"

Roberta was playing with her toy horses, waiting for Freddy to return and tell her a bedtime story before he tucked her in. Glancing up she suddenly spotted the woman in the corner watching her. Scrambling to her feet the girl squeals happily "Mommy," and starts toward her. She was accustomed to her mother appearing with different clothing and hair colors, but she was brought up short. "You're not my _madre_," the toddler declared, looking up at the lady unafraid.

"No, sweetie. She sent me though."

"You know where she's at," the little girl asks hopefully. She missed her momma.

"Uh-huh," asserts Jessica, bending backwards to stand on her head. The little girl claps and laughs as the newcomer walks on her hands, then pretends to fall down. Roberta found this a riot, why nobody had played with her like that before! Then the strange woman juggled some bouncy balls and sank down to the floor to her level, looking at her intently. "Want me to take you to her?"

"Why can't she come an' get me," the child asks shrewdly.

"Did Freddy tell you what's going on?"

"He said that bad people are after Mommy, and to keep me safe she's leadin' them away and then she'll come back for me."

"Well, I'm somebody she knew from a long, long time ago and I told her I'd help her. I just wanted to meet such a smart, wonderful little girl like you."

"My mommy's too smart and tough for any ol' bad guy," sniffs the girl.

"Sometimes even people like your mother need help, you know," Jessica responded reasonably. "Give me your hand. Hurry, the mean people might be watching."

"Wellll...ok. You're funny and look like Mommy...are we related? Maybe we are," Roberta exclaims, then stops her advance to the woman. "But I want my horsies," she turns back to go retrieve them.

"Roberta, we have no time to waste! Let's go!" She grabs the small child's arm.

"Hey! I want my horsies, I won't go without my horsies," the girl wails.

"Shhh! We don't wanna scare anyone!"

The bedroom door swings open, revealing Freddy with a storybook in hand, his eyes growing wide as saucers. "What the hell?" 

"You," he spat at last, reaching for the small pistol he kept with him at all times.

"No," squealed Roberta, stepping in front of the woman. "Don't hurt her Freddy!"

"Berta, she's an enemy. She tried to hurt me before, now stand away from her."

Hugging Jessica's legs she shook her round head. "I like her, she's funny."

"Roberta, she's trying to kidnap you! Please. Get away from her."

Looking back at him with tear-rimmed eyes the little girl sobs. "My mommy's dead, ain't she? That's why you're all acting so funny. I want my mommy," she wailed, latching back onto Jessica. "She--can--be--my--mommy," she says between hiccuping sobs. "Don't kill her, Uncle Freddy. I want Mommy! I don't have a daddy and I don't wanna be without a mommy."

"Mommy's here, sweetie," came Angela's voice, full of tenderness. Crawling through the window, battered, bleeding, and exhausted was Angela. Stumbling to her knees she caught the little girl as she flew into her arms. Soon both were weeping with joy and relief, and Angela sent a prayer of thanks to whoever was listening up there that she'd come home to her daughter, her only biological family left.

"Sweet Jesus," breathed the dark-haired Freddy at her appearance. "All right, you," he intones, remembering himself. "Hands where I can see 'em." He circles the intruder, and she moves fluidly towards the little bed. Before he could blink she rolled over the bed and hit the floor, neatly out of his sight. Jessica pulled her own handgun, checked if it was loaded, and prepared for an ugly mess.

Angela leaped into action, exchanging her daughter for Freddy's gun and bidding him seek cover. "No! NO," screamed Roberta. "Don't shoot her, Mommy! She didn't hurt me. Mommy, don't!" Freddy tucked the struggling girl under his arm and bolted out the bedroom door, raising the alarm.

Jessica shot from under the bed, not really expecting to hit anything but it drove Angela instinctively to the floor. The younger woman popped up and squeezed off shots--Angela kept rolling, coming up on one knee and firing. Jessica jerked like a puppet being pulled, in a split second regained her bearings and jumped backwards behind the bassinet that hadn't been removed from the room yet. Checking herself over she discovered a bullet had grazed a rib and another was lodged somewhere under her collarbone from the throbbing heat and feeling of something foreign where it wasn't supposed to be. Time to reload.

"Bitch I coulda killed you," declared Angela. "I give you quarter and this is what I get for my trouble? I can see why Baby and Otis always disposed of their victims."

"As far as I'm concerned you still owe _me_. You got a happy little family with servants and a child of your own, and what did I get? I got shit! YOU STOLE MY FUTURE, MY HAPPINESS!"

"So that's what this is about," gasps Angela, taken aback. "You blame me for Otis fuckin' you up so you can't have kids? Well, lil miss Homecoming Queen, YOU CAN'T HAVE MY DAUGHTER! I'll fuckin kill you!" And she lunged clear over the bassinet onto the supremely startled blonde, readying the gun to her head. A well-placed strike sent it flying, but Jessica couldn't bring the gun she had in her grasp to bear as Angela had her wrist in a vise grip. 

Angela relinquished the hold over Baby and she came roaring and gnashing to the forefront, aiming to tear the younger woman's eyes out, to maim, to kill. Everything in Jessica screamed in fear and desperation: Fight! Fight! Angela's men appeared from all directions, weapons at the ready but unable to make a move for fear of hitting their mistress. The former victim's fingers scrabbled about, searching for something she could use on her assailant and found an economy sized bottle of baby powder, which she clocked Baby over the head with. A cloud of perfumed dust poofed out, engulfing both females and stinging Baby's battered face.

It was just the opening Jessica needed to pull her knife. "Ohh, no, bitch," coughed Baby, catching her wrist before she could strike and wrenching the knife away. then she head-butted her face. "I gotchoo now," she declares, breathing heavily and raising the blade high. She held it there gazing at the girl's face, accepting but defiant. Not beaten down and snivelling, but young and hopeful through all the shit that had been done to her. Baby hadn't been unaffected by the contact with Ellen's personality, and it was Ellen who came through now, pushing aside the momentarily confused and sentimental Baby. Ellen the mother and pillar of quiet strength. "Go. Get outta here, you stupid girl." Ellen got to her feet and allowed Jessica to get up. "Your scheme has failed; stealing my daughter won't make you whole again. You know that, don't ya?"

Jessica nodded, numb.

"Killing you won't bring Paolo or Kevin back," reasoned Ellen. "So, we're left with A: killing one or both of us and B: you gettin' the fuck outta my house while Baby's in a soft mood and makin' something out of yer sorry self."

At that moment the two women, whose lives were so strangely intertwined, understood each other for once. "Thank you, Ellen," she whispered as she darted past the astonished guards. "And Baby."

Little did each of them know the how outcome of their actions would help later on down the road, for Angela's daughter would need all the friends she could muster, growing up the daughter of one of the most powerful crimelords south of the border. 

--2005--

The middle-aged, lanky man heard the front doorbell ring but let his teenaged son get it; after all, it was probably the boy's girlfriend come calling. He was putting together a scrapbook anyways and didn't want to be disturbed.

The man's son opened the door and his large dark eyes flew open. This wasn't Crystal at all, but she sure was a looker! Tall, lithe and very lean, she nevertheless gave off a very sexual feminine aura. Shoulder-length deep brown hair framed an attractive (albeit square-jawed) young face with sparkling dark grey eyes. Remembering his manners the lad greets her. "Hullo, can I help you, Miss?"

"Hi there! Yes, is this Lance Brockwell's residence?" The youth answers in the affirmative. "Could I please speak with him? It's really important. Please," she bats her beautiful, expressive eyes at him and he couldn't resist.

After a few long moments the man appears, wearing thick spectacles and a heavy mustache. "Is there something I can help you with?"

The young woman's face brightens immediately. "Daddy," she cries, jumping in his arms.  



End file.
